


bits and pieces

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Penguins, Scars, Some Fluff, Some angst, Tea, dumpster diving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my space for when I can't write any of my other ongoing projects, basically my Johnlock sandbox</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Remember that thing I said at Angelo's?"  
(a tentative hand reached across the table)  
"Thing?"  
(the hand was taken in two smaller hands)  
"About being married to my work?"  
(eyes closed, deep breath)  
"Uh-hmmm, that thing."  
(hand being held was gently kissed)  
"I may be getting a divorce."  
(eyes crinkled, a laugh burbled out)  
"Is that what it says in your fortune cookie?"


	2. Chapter 2

"John. Tea."  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, give me a minute, yeah?"  
"No. I made you tea."

Crickets

"John?"  
"You've never made me tea before."  
"I felt like it?"  
"What did you do?"  
"Nothing. I swear. I just wanted to make you tea."  
"Huh."  
"Is it Wednesday?"  
"Nope."  
"Experiment?"  
"Nope."  
"Is it International Confuse Your Lover By Making Him Tea Day?"  
"Don't be an idiot, John."  
"I love you, too."


	3. Chapter 3

"Bees? Really?"  
"What's wrong with bees?"  
"Nothing, uhm, they are just..."  
"Don't you dare say-"  
"...cute?"  
"Bees are not cute!"  
"No?"  
"They are industrious.."  
"uh-huhhhhh"  
"and uhm, orderly."  
"..orderly..."  
"oooooh, righhhht there..."  
"We don't need these anymore, do we?"  
"hmmm, what? oh, uhm, nooooo."  
The bright yellow bee pants landed in the pile  
next to the fushia and cobalt striped socks  
and buried the three purple buttons  
which had finally popped off.


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't do that again!"  
"I'm sorry, John. I didn't think-"  
"No, I know you didn't think, you moron!"  
"John-"  
"No. What do you think would happen to me if-"  
"Nothing will happen-"  
"Shut it, Holmes."  
"I-?"  
"Do you know what it was like for me last time you died? Eh?"  
"John, I wasn-"  
"I know, but you almost took a bullet for me tonight, for real."  
"Of course I did, what would I do if you were gone?"  
"Wha-?"  
"Why do you think I died the last time?"  
"I didn't want to know-"  
"I know."  
"Can you tell me now?"  
"Don't you know?"  
"I want to hear you say it."  
"It matters that much?"  
"Yes."  
"I can't imagine my life without you in it. I realized later that I should have told you everything before, but I was afraid."  
"Afraid?"  
"I wasn't sure how you felt and it would have killed me to know you didn't feel the same way."  
"And now?"  
"Now, all I want to do is get out of these wet clothes and have a shower and go to bed..."  
"Bed?"  
"If you will join me?"  
"Thought you'd never ask."


	5. Chapter 5

"Damnit, John! Where are you?"  
Hours since his last text, pouring rain, umbrella left by the door.  
Five voice mail messages left.  
No answer.  
Almost desperate enough to ask Big Brother. Not yet.  
Two more hours. Three more messages.  
How many favours will it take this time.  
The door finally bangs open.  
Slow, drippy steps struggle up the steps.  
Sherlock flings the door open to yell at his lover.  
"Damn- oh, John."  
Standing before him was a frozen, wetter than wet, John Watson, shivering in only a cardigan and jeans.  
"I lost my phone, tube was on strike, they were out of milk, and a puddle ate my shoes."  
"A puddle ate your sh-? Never mind, you have no idea how worried I was, I almost sent Mycroft after you. Here, let me?"  
Sherlock unbuttoned the cardigan, letting it fall with a squishy thud, then unbuttoned his partner's jeans, and pulling them and his pants off, stripping him completely. "Come, shower, then tea?"  
John could only nod as he let Sherlock lead him to the loo; shivering so hard he thought his teeth would fall out.  
Sherlock turned on the taps and let the room fill with steam, then helped John into the tub, holding him up.  
"I was so worried, love." John leaned back against his taller flatmate, letting the water wash over them and he sighed, wrapped in Sherlock's arms.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a crappy morning

"Really? Dumpster, again?"  
"Evidence, John, I saw him throw the knife in there, had to get it!"  
"I know, but did it have to be one behind a nail salon?"  
"Had no choice, John."  
"May not be able to get out the neon pink, do you want me to-"  
"NO!"  
"It will have to grow out then, guess you can wear the 'hat?'"


	7. Chapter 7

He was never nervous.  
Nope.  
He didn't even like Christmas.  
He had deleted every Christmas that he could remember.  
But this year was different.  
He rattled the tiny red package and paced some more.  
"Sherlock, stop rattling the box, you can't open it til tomorrow."  
"John, please?"  
"Nope. Come back to bed."


	8. Chapter 8

"Happy Christmas, love. "  
"Mmmmmph?"  
"It's Christmas Day."  
"Oh." One eye shyly peeked up at John.  
"Yeah, oh. Tea?"  
"Okay."  
John brought in a tray: tea, scones, and the little red package.  
"Go ahead, open it."  
"Sure?"  
"Yeah, go ahead, it won't bite."  
Sherlock carefully untied the bow, then slid off the paper and found....

 

cuff links.

"Uhm. Thanks?"  
John couldn't hold in the laughter, hard as he tried, he lost it.  
Sherlock scowled.  
"Sorry. I'm so sorry, love. I couldn't resist it."  
John reached into the drawer next to their bed and pulled out a black velvet box.  
He took the cuff links away from Sherlock, and opened the box, taking out a beautiful, handcrafted silver ring, celtic in design. "I found this guy last time I was in Dublin and knew he was the guy to make the ring for you. " He took Sherlock's hand in his, looked him in the eye, and grinned.   
"Sherlock, you know I love you more than my life. You are brilliant, gorgeous, impossible and mad, absolutely the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with. So, please, will you? Will you marry me?"  
For once, his flatmate was utterly speechless, and after a moment, nodded yes.  
John slipped the ring on his finger, and gently kissed his hand.  
He looked up to see quiet tears falling down Sherlock's face.  
"Oh, sweetie. What did I do?"  
Sherlock shook his head. "Nothing," he whispered. "I love you, John. That's all."  
"Oh."  
"Yeah. Oh."  
"Happy Christmas?"  
"Can we go back to bed?"  
"Yeah."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This came out today, more angsty than usual, as I lean toward the fluffy/cracky side usually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my Lobster, a bit angsty, a bit hopeful shortly after Sherlock's return from the dead. A bit longer than most pieces.

After he returned he was shy.  
He no longer flounced, or glided.  
To John, he seemed a bit off, not quite  
whatever it was that made him Sherlock.  
He was buttoned up tight in more ways  
than one. No more sheets at the Palace.  
John was careful, knowing his feelings  
may be too much. Layer by layer, he tried  
to unravel the nightmares, the dark circles.  
One night, Sherlock appeared at his bedside.  
"You want to know. You've been tiptoeing  
around me for weeks. I'm not the same person  
you knew before. I don't know if you will want  
this version."  
He slowly undid his cuffs, showing edges  
of scars around both wrists, then rolling up  
his sleeves, slightly pink knife marks  
decorated the once pale skin. He looked down  
at John. John sat up and took both hands,  
"I want to see, I want to help if I can."  
"I don't know if you can, John."  
"Let me try."  
John shrugged out of his own shirt,  
and pressed Sherlock's fingers lightly into  
his own damaged skin.  
Sherlock took a deep breath, and allowed John  
to unbutton his shirt, he slowly turned, exposing  
the remnants of the lashes that his fair skin  
had been subjected to.  
John stood, removed the shirt, and placed soft kisses  
at Sherlock's hairline, working his way down his flatmate's  
spine until Sherlock whimpered, "John."  
He reached around, asking for permission, Sherlock  
could only nod. He carefully untied the striped pajama bottoms,  
and stifled a gasp, as he realized how close he had come  
to losing his best friend.  
"God, I am so sorry, Sherlock. I am so so sorry."  
"Why are you sorry? You didn't do this."  
"Someone needs to apologize to you, love."  
"Love?" Sherlock whispered.  
"Didn't you know?"  
At that moment, John knew he was lost in this man, this man  
he was holding up in his arms. Slowly, Sherlock crumpled to the floor,  
taking John with him, sobbing silently to himself.  
"I couldn't stop them John. I tried losing myself in my Mind Palace,  
but it was too much. I had nothing left, except you.  
You kept me from giving up completely. I have nothing  
to offer you, John. I don't know why you stay."  
John cradled his friend in his lap, "because I have never met  
anyone like you, you are extraordinary, brilliant and amazingly human."  
"I'm not him anymore, John. Look at me. Look!"  
"I see you, Sherlock. I see you."  
"You made it home, you are here."  
"I love you no matter what they did to you."  
"How can y-"  
"Please, let me see your face?"  
Sherlock turned a tear stained face towards John,  
still trying to catch his breath.  
"Look in my eyes, tell me what you see."  
Sherlock reached a shaky hand up to John's face.  
"I've never seen anyone look at me like that."  
"Like what?"  
"Like I matter."  
"You matter. You are enough. Do you understand me?"  
John took Sherlock's hand and gently kissed his wrist  
wishing he could kiss the scars away.  
All he could do was love the man buried beneath them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my brief take on what happened after Sherlock told Irene to run at the end of Scandal in Belgravia...

"...RUN!"  
Irene ran, fortunately she was in boots made for running in Karachi dust, instead of her favourite 4 inch blood red stilettos. 

The men Sherlock hired to fake Irene's death were paid off quickly, and Sherlock flashed her a grin. She punched him, narrowly avoiding his nose and teeth. 

"Why? Why did you do this for me, what about your brother?"  
He shook his head and rubbed his jaw. "You didn't think I'd let my brother disappear such a brilliant mind, did you?"

She hissed at him, "you scared me nearly to death."  
"Ah, but you're safe until the next time you try to double cross a client. This is your last chance. This more than repays you for saving John at the pool with your well-timed phone call."

"Does he know?"  
"Know what, exactly? Don't be tedious, Irene."  
"That you love him."  
"No. It's best that way."  
"For whom, him or you?"  
"Him. He wants a family, a normal 9 to 5 life. I'm not what he wants or needs."  
"Are you kidding me? I've never seen anyone more in love than he is with you."  
"He said he wasn't-oh!"  
"Oh."  
"Guess I owe you one more faked death, Irene. I'm such an idiot." He grabbed her face and kissed her, and she wished for a moment that they both weren't what they were.  
"Lucky, lucky John." She whispered as she kissed the place where a bruise was forming.  
"Where now, Irene?"  
"I was thinking of the States, maybe L.A., I could cause a bit of trouble there, I believe."  
Sherlock smirked, "No doubt."  
Later, as they boarded different planes, she blew him a kiss goodbye.


	11. Chapter 11

"Why are we doing this again?"  
"You asked me and I said, 'Yes' ?"  
"No, I mean, do you need this ceremony to know-"  
"No. I know."  
"How long do we have to stay at the reception?"  
"Long enough so I can dance with you in public, don't want those lessons going to waste."  
"I'm never wearing this again."  
"I should hope not, though those trousers-"  
"What about them?"  
"We have a couple of hours...."


	12. Chapter 12

He stood at the window  
trying to remember what day it was.  
His coat was somewhere in the Thames  
with his phone  
his shoes  
and a purple sock.  
He had managed to somehow find  
John, though, who had fallen in, going after...  
he couldn't remember now, why it was  
so important...  
"Sher-?"  
He turned and quietly walked over to the bed.  
"John. I'm here."  
"Where is here?"  
"Bart's. You went into the Thames."  
"How long ago?"  
"A week, now, I think?"  
"You have been here-?"  
"A week, now, I think."  
"Why?"  
"Why, what?"  
"Are you here?"  
"Where else would I be?"  
"The Work-"  
"There is no work more important than you."  
"Since when?"  
"Since I almost lost you."  
"Oh."


	13. Chapter 13

"Show me."  
"Why?"  
"John. Please?"  
"I don't. No one has ever wanted to see it."  
"I need to."  
"Why?"  
"It is part of you, I want to know every single bit of you."

John sighed, and nodded as he allowed Sherlock to remove his t-shirt. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look on his lover's face when he finally saw what war had done to his shoulder. After a long moment, he opened his eyes to see Sherlock tracing his scar with his long, beautiful fingers. 

"May I?"  
John nodded, not sure what to expect, and closed his eyes again.  
He felt ghosts of kisses dancing along the edges of his ruined shoulder, then heard Sherlock whisper, "thankyouthankyouthankyou."

He felt tears running from his eyes, tears that were years in coming; Sherlock wrapped himself around his blogger, whispering, "I have you. Let it go, just let it go, John. Do you know how perfect you are? You never have to hide any part of yourself from me. Your scars brought you home to find me. To find us."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honour of Mr. Cumberbatch's investiture as a Commander of the British Empire, I offer some fluffy, cracky Johnlock. :)

"Pengwi-"  
"Pingl-"  
"Penglengs-"  
"Damn!"  
"Love?"  
"I offered to go read a story-"  
"You did what?"  
"Lestrade's youngest was allowed to invite someone to read to her class for her birthday, and Greg said she wanted me to-"  
"Awwwwww-"  
"Cut it out. There is no case right now, and I need to replace a string, so I've nothing on today."  
"Problem?"  
"Problem is, she picked a story about pingw-"  
"Penguins?"  
"That-yes. The one word on the planet that I cannot say and I have to read in front of a horde of five year olds in a little over two hours."  
"Hmm...you seem tense, if I could get you to relax that might help?" John starts threading his fingers through the tangled mass of curls.  
"Mmmmm, quite possibly...yesssssss...there, right- mmmmm..."  
John slowly led his lover to the couch, and knelt in front of him, removing Sherlock's striped lounging pajamas, and running his fingers along his inner thighs, "relax, love."  
"Hmmmmmmmm"  
John licked the tip of the detective's already freely leaking cock, and slowly took him down to the root.  
"Johhhhhhn, ohhhhhhhh myyyyyyy-"  
John felt Sherlock tense and moved up to kiss him through it, "I love you, you are amazing, brilliant, not to mention stunningly gorgeou-"  
"Penguins."  
"Penguins?"  
"Penguins! John, you are a genius, my most excellent conductor of light."  
He ran off to get a shower and John made another cup of tea.


End file.
